Imagine...

A day, when the sun proudly bathes the world in warmth; when trees, populated with the sounds of life, wave ever so slightly in cool summer breeze; when fields, awash in the vibrant hues of blooming flowers, offer pleasant fragrances and distant childhood memories.  This is a beautiful day, as optimists would say, and try as he may, a pessimist would be defeated in his efforts to find something unsatisfactory.   The great orchestra is playing well, making use of long, sweeping chords on this day.  Can you hear it?  It is an unmistakable sound.  Listen closely and you will tell; sounds that are bold and bright, harmonious and almost atmospheric in nature.  All is right.  But...

Can an orchestra, no matter how grandiose, sustain the perfect composition forever?  Alas, it cannot, as hard as it may try.  The conductor, the mighty foundation of order, will soon tire,  as will the performers that so diligently follow his movements.  Elegance will suffer.  And with it, so will harmony.  Yet the orchestra will play on, lest it prematurely end the composition that began so brilliantly.  Time is the enemy now.  It is an assassin with deadly poison.  Once injected, harmony as you know it will be murdered.  Elegance as you know it... it, too, will have its life taken.  From their corpses, discord and disaster will be born.

Let us return to your day.  
Your day is unaffected.  
And so is the next.  



But imagine this place a year from now.  Black thunderclouds from the distant north threaten the reassuring rays of the sun. As they approach, the flowers will surely wilt.  The sounds of the day are already being overtaken by sharp thunderclaps in the near distance.  The leaves of dependable and resilient trees are being stripped from their branches this very moment by terrorizing gusts.  The winds of change have found this day.  Where is the orchestra now? It is broken, it is dead, it is nothing now.  The performers still exist, and they still play, yet they have no conductor to coordinate with.  

It is a rumble, the march of one thousand dark armies quickly approaching this once beautiful day.  

You cannot see them yet, but they will soon bring their path of destruction right where you stand.  Over the distant hills they will come with firearms and cannons, and blood soaked contraptions built to kill; over the opposite hills stand your home and family.  But all is not lost in the day, for the sun still shines ever brightly above the brewing storm.    

I must ask you a final question while the time permits.  Would you claim the forgotten conductor's baton?  It sits in the orchestra hall, neatly placed on the conductor's podium.  Despite many appraising eyes, few have considered taking it in hand and none have actually done so...  

Would you conduct a beautiful day, my son?